


marked

by triggeringthehealing (froggydarren)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Vernon Boyd & Erica Reyes, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Gen, M/M, Werewolf Hunters, mention of Gerard and Kate Argent, mention of Laura Hale - Freeform, past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 22:13:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11366697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/froggydarren/pseuds/triggeringthehealing
Summary: They play with their prey. Not in a “let me have a little fun chasing you before I kill and devour you” kind of play either. No, it’s the kind where they capture a werewolf — or sometimes a whole pack — and then torture them in ways that put Kate and the Calaveras’s electrocution methods on the level of having to watch Barney the Purple Dinosaur on repeat.





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**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [FandomWritingChallenge](https://fandomwritingchallenge.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. My prompt for this month was Brand.

Stiles figures it out by accident.

He’s been researching the latest big bad that is threatening the fragile peace in the supernatural community of the Northern California area when he comes across a hunter pack that seems to be in the area.

“The McKennas? Oh hell,” Chris reacts when Stiles mentions them.

“Well that sounds _awesome_ ,” Stiles replies, gearing up for news of the Gerard variety.

“Think Gerard and Kate combined,” Chris says, and Stiles shivers at the thought. “I have some info about them, I’ll get it to you. But it’s not pretty.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve learned that a lot of the hunting side of all this tends to be ugly,” Stiles says with a sigh. “Not that I think we’ll ever reach the rock bottom of either side, to be honest.”

When Chris gives him the info and Stiles starts looking into the hunter family and what they do — besides the typical hunting — he gets really close to declaring it the absolute bottom of the pit. He has seen hunters who were _bad_. He has seen monsters — Jackson included, back in the kanima days — who were terrifying. But what he’s seeing on the pages makes him almost appreciate Chris’ comparison to Gerard and Kate. Almost, because there’s no way he can genuinely appreciate something that makes his stomach turn just at the thought of it.

They _play_ with their prey. Not in a “let me have a little fun chasing you before I kill and devour you” kind of play either. No, it’s the kind where they capture a werewolf — or sometimes a whole pack — and then torture them in ways that put Kate and the Calaveras’s electrocution methods on the level of having to watch Barney the Purple Dinosaur on repeat. Which in itself is obviously not pleasant, as Stiles has learned now that some of the pack have procreated.

“They do _what_?”

Every person in the pack has that exact reaction when they find out. Well, almost everyone who’s present at the pack meeting when they discuss the threat. There’s one person who’s suspiciously quiet in the face of the information, but at first, Stiles is too busy too busy relaying what he found to notice.

He tries not to go into too much detail, but Lydia is looking over his shoulder and making gagging noises already, and he sees Isaac cringe away when he throws a glance at the pages Stiles printed out.

“Chris, why are they allowed to continue operating?”

It’s John who asks the question, and Melissa pulls him back from looking at the details. She is a fierce nurse, has seen things that would cause permanent trauma to some people, and Stiles knows it’s instinct in her to be protective. John returns the protectiveness the same way, but Stiles always rejoices a little when she reminds him that she’s in his corner when it comes to keeping John from too much stress.

“As you can guess, they’re not really controllable,” Chris says, sounding angry and defeated at the same time. “They think that they don’t need to follow a Code, or any rules. They see themselves as some sort of vigilantes, controlling the werewolf population by any means necessary, because none of the other hunter clans do enough in their opinion. And they are solely focused on werewolf packs, no other supernatural creatures are seen as a threat. They just… make sure that the werewolves are punished for existing.”

“That’s insane,” Danny pipes up from the laptop where he’s already sifting through the information that Stiles threw together.

“If there ever was anyone that _Kate_ ,” Chris spits out the name like it’s poison, “was looking up to, it was the McKennas.”

Stiles feels the moment that the name reaches Derek’s ears. He knows, because Derek’s grip on Stiles’s shoulder tightens to the point of bordering on painful.

“Not again,” Derek whispers, low enough that only Stiles seems to hear.

Everyone goes back to looking at the information, and they start talking about their possibilities, but Stiles can’t. He doesn’t move, not even when Derek’s grip eases as he moves to join the others.

Stiles can’t follow, because his brain is already connecting Derek’s quiet comment with everything else he knows. With information that he found, snippets he dismissed as impossible and didn’t include in the printouts or files that the pack is discussing. Because there were things that he thought were rumors, too outlandish even in light of everything else he saw.

 _Branding_ , he thinks, his mind conjuring the images that he spent half the night before trying to forget.

The McKenna clan doesn’t kill all of the werewolves they capture. Most of them don’t survive the torture — things like being locked in tight spaces, which was what made Isaac step back earlier — and some get killed as part of the process. But a few, usually only one out of a pack, get released after some time. Those who do ‘get away’ aren’t left unmarked though. Stiles clenches his teeth when the vivid images of a branding iron and a blowtorch cross his mind.

All of a sudden, he realises that Derek didn’t just know how to make a tattoo permanent because the Hale pack had been into tattoos, or because he’d encountered the method in New York’s tattoo parlors that specialized in non-human clients.

It’s the thought of the city that makes Stiles finally step forward, and he strides over to his laptop, then nudges Danny to make him move. His fingers are flying over the keyboard moments later, filtering through the information on the hunters’ known locations and movements. As he does so, he’s already remembering the date of that fateful night when he dragged Scott into the Preserve to search for what turned out to be Laura’s body. When he lands on a match, his sharp intake of breath makes the pack turn around in unison.

“What?” Jackson asks, the first one to speak into the brief silence.

“Nothing, nothing,” Stiles mutters, and he closes out of the file he was looking at before Danny — who’s already walking over — can see it. “Just… all of this,” he waves his hand at the screen and nods towards the table with the papers.

There’s no way he’s talking about it in front of the whole pack. Not when Derek clearly isn’t sharing it with anyone, not when Stiles is pretty sure that no one besides Derek _knows_ , including Peter.

But he’s sure now, has zero doubt that at some point between the Hale house fire and Laura’s return to Beacon Hills, Derek had an encounter with the McKenna clan. He’s also sure that said encounter is the reason why the Hale triskelion is in such a prominent place on Derek’s back.

 _Like a target_ , he thinks and cringes, the implications more horrific than he wants to think about. His mind wanders though, like it always does, and he can’t stop it any more than he could stop the world from spinning. He manages to act like he’s scrolling through the files on screen, but he’s not seeing anything that’s on there. Instead, he keeps thinking back to the Derek he met years ago, alone and angry at the world, the one who all but growled at Stiles and Scott. The one who spit out “This is private property” like they were set on destroying the last thing he had left — the land that belonged to the family Derek no longer had.

He thinks about Derek before that, the one he remembers from the days when werewolves were just special effects in horror movies to him. The Derek whom Stiles knew as the high school’s basketball team star. The same one he recognized at the ruins in Mexico when no one else did. And he thinks about the Derek who gave in to Scott’s pleas, the one who picked up a blowtorch and made his own brand on Scott’s skin, ignoring how he was given the one on his back.

“Stiles?” It’s Derek’s voice that brings him back to reality. “Are you okay?”

“What? Yeah, I’m fine,” Stiles says a little too quickly.

“You’ve been trying to scroll down this page for over a minute after you got to the end,” Derek points out, and Stiles blinks. “What’s up?”

“It’s nothing,” Stiles says. “Well, no, it’s just all this,” he nods at the screen. “What can we do?”

He’s not just asking Derek but also the rest of the pack. And there’s no response at first, everyone equally shaken by what they’ve been looking at for… well, Stiles has no idea how long he was lost in his thoughts.

They don’t find a solution that night. Not that anyone expected it — the McKenna clan is a whole different ballpark of horror movie villains — since they only just figured out what they’re facing. Chris leaves first, with the promise of finding out more, putting out feelers to more friendly hunter clans. Isaac follows shortly after, joined by Scott and Allison who are already sticking close to him, no doubt preparing for the nightmares that they’ll need to soothe him through. Stiles winces in sympathy when he thinks about the images of the cellars and the lockable boxes covered in claw marks. It’s only a memory for Isaac now, but Stiles imagines it’s not one that’s easy to shrug off.

Erica and Boyd rush off when they get a call from Boyd’s Grandma — they leave Alicia, their three year old, with her during pack meetings, but she gets antsy when things are as tense as their current situation. Derek explained once that for children that young, the pack bond isn't completed, but they still feel everyone’s distress much like human children get upset when the adults around them do.

Stiles melts into a hug from his dad before he and Melissa head out for work, John’s arm around her shoulders as he mutters things to her that Stiles isn’t sure he wants to hear. It’s still pretty new, them dating, and they’re not too old to be giving the younger couples a run for their money in terms of PDA. Stiles deals though, because his dad is _happy_ again. And Scott’s now his brother for real.

Peter lingers, along with Jackson and Lydia, until they gather up all the information. When Danny eventually tugs Jackson away for a project that they apparently have a deadline on, Lydia asks for a ride home.

“You staying?” Derek asks Stiles when the loft is almost empty.

“Dad’s on a double,” Stiles says. “I wouldn’t mind claiming the couch.”

Derek nods, and then he heads over to the corner where Peter’s sitting on the spiral staircase, glowering at the floor. They fall into conversation so quiet that Stiles has no way of hearing or understanding, so he finishes tidying up the table and puts the laptop away instead. His mind circles around the dates he saw earlier again, and he remembers snippets of what Derek disclosed over the years.

There are little things, like the way Derek said “I couldn’t” once when the discussion veered to his arrival in Beacon Hills after Laura was killed. The time when they talked about the Hale family history, and Jackson asked if everyone had a tattoo of the triskelion. Derek’s “no” was that little bit too harsh for Stiles to know there was a story behind it. Like then, he’s not planning on asking anything outright.

He also doesn’t want to act like he didn’t figure out the connection between Derek’s triskelion and the McKennas though. They promised each other a long time ago that they would try to be as honest and open with each other as possible, and Stiles isn’t planning on breaking that promise. It’s just that he doesn’t know how to broach the subject. Or rather, seeing as the whole situation is already out in the open, and it’s only a matter of time before someone else — Stiles wouldn’t put money on whether it will be Lydia, Danny or Peter — connects the dots, Stiles doesn’t want to pretend that _he_ didn’t.

He wants Derek to know that he knows. That there’s no judgment, and no expectation of Derek talking about it if he doesn’t want to.

When Derek sits down on the couch, Stiles startles and glances around, then realises that they’re alone now.

“Peter?”

“Went to his apartment,” Derek says, leaning back in the cushions, looking a lot more relaxed than during the meeting.

Stiles can see right through that though, sees the way Derek’s fists are still clenched, the way his muscles are tense.

“He said there might be something more in the old notes in the vault,” Derek continues, seemingly oblivious to Stiles’ concerned look. “He’ll go check it out tomorrow. We’ll have another meeting in the afternoon.”

Stiles nods and hums in acknowledgment, watching as Derek closes his eyes and breathes deeply, in a way that reminds Stiles of his own methods to shake off panic attacks. Carefully, he moves his hand and lowers it on top of Derek’s, then twines their fingers when Derek turns his palm up.

“You sure you want me to stay?” Stiles asks a few moments later.

It’s not that he _wants_ to leave, or thinks that Derek being alone is a good idea, but he’s not going to make decisions for anyone. If Derek needs time to process, Stiles will give it to him, no questions asked — at least not until later.

“Please,” Derek whispers.

“Okay.” Stiles nods, and sits up. “I’m gonna get my pillow and a blanket. Then I’m gonna need your furry butt off this couch, it’s _mine_.”

“This couch?” Derek asks, raising an eyebrow. “Because I do recall your protests about how it’s ugly and not comfortable enough,” he says with a more relaxed smile.

“It grew on me,” Stiles shrugs. “Well, not literally, but me and the couch are bros now. We have an understanding. I don’t diss it, it doesn’t make my back hurt.”

“I don’t really think it’s sentient enough for that, Stiles,” Derek says, this time with an actual chuckle. Then he pauses and Stiles looks at him, a little unsettled by the silence, and not at all comforted by the way Derek’s brows are furrowed.

“What?”

“What if you…” Derek starts, then he glances down on the coffee table. “Would you…?”

Stiles waits him out. He would anyway, but today he’s just that little bit extra determined to let things unravel at Derek’s pace.

“Want to come up?” Derek finally says, and it’s so quiet that Stiles only hears it because he’s right by Derek’s side.

It’s a big deal that Derek is asking. Not because they wouldn’t be in a “spending the night together” stage of their relationship yet. They have, in Stiles’ room, here in the loft on the bed that’s still in the corner — it somehow survived all refurbishment and is used a lot during pack movie nights — and in Stiles’ dorm and later his apartment when he was away in college. Back then, they even spent time together in Derek’s place in New York, the small house outside the city that Laura had bought years ago.

The thought, coupled with what Stiles has put together now, sends a shiver down his spine.

But here in Beacon Hills, in the loft that’s seen so much bad and has been rebuilt to mean so much _good_ , barely anyone goes further than a few steps up the spiral staircase. Sure, Peter likes to sit there and watch, and occasionally Boyd or Erica use the small spare bedroom to let Alicia have her nap when the pack is all gathered downstairs. But other than that, the only person who goes up is Derek himself.

“Are you sure?” Stiles asks, fingers tightening around Derek’s. “I want to. I have wanted to. But since you never asked, I assumed it was a werewolf thing.”

“Like, my den of werewolfy solitude?” Derek asks, eyebrow lifted along with the corner of his lips.

“More like your own space not intruded on by my human stench,” Stiles shoots back, and he leans a little against Derek’s arm.

Instead of replying immediately, Derek turns his head and buries his face into the crook of Stiles’ neck, and he breathes in deeply. Then he pulls away just enough to speak while Stiles is trying to ignore the Pavlovian response his dick has to Derek’s stubble on his skin.

“I like how you smell,” Derek says, then takes another deep breath. “It’s… calming.”

Stiles takes a moment to reply, then he can’t help but chuckle.

“Wow, okay, that’s gotta be the only time anyone _ever_ called me calming,” he says, and he gives Derek’s hand a squeeze.

“Well, most of the time you’re moving too much,” Derek says, a smile playing on his lips but not quite reaching his eyes.

Stiles doesn’t try to argue with that. He knows he’s a fidgeter, constantly in motion. It’s what unnerved him so much about the Nogitsune, what should’ve been a dead giveaway to everyone. Derek told him that it was, eventually, but he wasn't around enough to point it out to others.

He’s so lost in the memories of those times that he almost doesn’t notice when Derek gets up. Their hands are still linked though, and Stiles startles a little, then looks up and meets Derek’s eyes.

“Come on,” Derek says quietly, and Stiles nods.

They walk up the stairs in silence, holding hands all the way until they’re in Derek’s room, and Stiles can’t help but stare then. He’s not trying to memorize the bedroom, and it’s not like he’s seeing anything particularly shocking, but still, it’s Derek’s space and something about being there feels special. When Derek lets go of Stiles’ hand to change, Stiles follow suit, and moments later they’re lying down on the soft sheets, facing each other. Then — and it’s not the first time either — Derek turns around and Stiles slips closer, pressing his chest against Derek’s back, against the triskele that’s stark black on Derek’s body.

He can feel the trembles in Derek’s chest when he puts a palm against it, and he bends his head just enough that his lips land just above the outline of the ink. Derek reaches up, links his fingers with Stiles’ and takes a deep breath.

Stiles kisses along the curve of Derek’s shoulder, lips trailing from the side towards the back of Derek’s neck, and then down, until he reaches the tattoo. He drops a kiss there, gentle and as soothing as he can make it, then he moves up until his lips are right below Derek’s ear.

“I know,” he whispers, and he feels Derek tense. “I saw the dates.”

Derek’s breathing is shallow, shaky, and Stiles presses himself closer, holds Derek like he’s trying to stop him from falling apart. And maybe he is, maybe it’s helping. He hopes that it is.

“I’m here,” he says in between breaths. “I’m always here.”

He can feel the quiet sobs rocking Derek’s body, the trembling that reverberates through both of them, and he holds Derek closer, tighter, all while whispering “I love you” over and over against his skin.

It’s not until some time later, when Stiles is trying to fight off sleep, wanting to be there for Derek but too tired to be completely awake, that Derek settles down.

“I love you too,” Stiles hears, and when he feels Derek’s breathing even out, he closes his eyes and follows him into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](http://froggydarren.tumblr.com/) || [my sterek fic tumblr](http://triggeringthehealing.tumblr.com/)


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